


megaphone to my chest

by chlexcer



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Almost Kiss, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Canon Compliant, Fluffy, Foiled Confessions, M/M, bantering as flirting, but with sakuatsu, it's like a 'fill in the blanks of canon' fic, strangers to rivals to friends to lovers, subtle accidental touches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28378473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chlexcer/pseuds/chlexcer
Summary: how miya atsumu goes from 'mild inconvenience' to 'would kiss you on the floor of some hotel lobby if your teammates didn't cockblock us' in the span of a few years
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 9
Kudos: 205





	megaphone to my chest

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a shortfic but you know how things are sometimes  
> pau asked for sakuatsu with the prompts 'the feel of fingers brushing by accident' and 'someone accepting the bad parts of you without judging', and idk how much there is of them, but they're definitely in there  
> enjoy!

The first time Kiyoomi met Miya Atsumu they were both in middle school.

It was during a volleyball tournament, the same one where he met Ushijima, actually, but unlike with Ushijima, the first impression he got of the Hyogo setter was… not good.

He’d heard and even read about him before. There was a little piece in a volleyball magazine about him and his twin brother and how fearsome they would be in a few years when they developed their potential further. He was intrigued about him at first and even excited about the possibility of playing against him and his brother during the tournament, but those feelings soon vanished when they collided.

Literally collided.

It was the morning of the first day of the tournament and he was standing in a circle with the rest of his team in the crowded lobby of the gymnasium. Their coach was explaining something to them, but Kiyoomi couldn’t remember what it was because all he could think about was retreating to a less crowded corner of the room. It was making him incredibly nervous to be there, in the middle of the people and the noise, so when the coach finally called off their little meeting, Kiyoomi couldn’t turn to leave fast enough.

And that’s when it happened.

Someone’s body crashed against his own hard enough to make him stumble backwards.

“Woah - !” The person - a fourteen year old, black-haired Miya Atsumu - cursed. He’d been walking like an _idiot_ , frankly; without looking and with his arms crossed behind his head like he didn’t have a care in the world, it was like he was begging to walk into someone, and that someone just happened to be Kiyoomi.

What was worse was that Miya Atsumu actually reached out for him to steady him. His intentions were good, sure, but Kiyoomi nearly shivered when gross and sweaty fingers wrapped around his wrist for a split second.

“Oops, didn’t see ya there,” Miya Atsumu said quickly, barely even looking at him. “Sorry!”

After that, he just kept on walking and that was that.

Kiyoomi was too annoyed and disgusted to say anything. He simply glared daggers after Miya Atsumu as he continued making his way down the crowded hall, so he saw how the person beside him - who he assumed for obvious reasons was his twin brother - smacked him on the back and called him mean things for not watching where he’s going. He felt strangely thankful to him for that.

“You okay?” Motoya asked next to him, following his gaze to the two twin figures mixing in the crowd.

Kiyoomi scrunched his nose before turning around to leave the opposite way.

“I need to wash my hands.”

  
  


The second time Kiyoomi met Atsumu they were both first years in high school.

It was also at a volleyball tournament, the mid-year Interhigh, and both of their new teams were among the strongest ones out there. It was obvious that everybody was looking forward to a match between Itachiyama from Tokyo and Inarizaki from Hyogo, and that there was particular interest in the role the Miya twins would play as they were both starting players.

Kiyoomi found all the media attention they received annoying for no valid reason (other than the resentment he harbored for Miya Atsumu after what happened last year), but if he was honest with himself, he too was looking forward to a match against Miya Atsumu and his team. He learned from his older teammates that their schools had a sort of rivalry going on for years but that Inarizaki had yet to beat Itachiyama. The idea of defending the champion title against annoying little Miya Atsumu sounded like a fun challenge.

He was cooling down and stretching his muscles by himself after their first successful match, the rest of his team doing the same thing not too far from him, when it happened. His muscles were tired and his mind was buzzing pleasantly with the post-victory thrill and the satisfaction of having played well throughout the entirety of it, so it took him a split second to fully process it when a Molten ball bumped against his thigh.

He blinked down at it, and then looked up at the sound of sneakers hitting the gym’s floor.

“Hey! That’s mine,” a voice said - it was familiar, Kiyoomi had heard it before for sure, but it wasn’t familiar enough for him to recognize its owner. He only realized it was Miya Atsumu’s voice when he saw his face and his shockingly yellow hair, which were all over his favorite volleyball magazine just last month for a special on first years to have an eye out for. 

Kiyoomi couldn’t help but remember what happened last year. Miya Atsumu’s hair was black then, but a year later he still had the same carefree, confident and slightly annoying _thing_ to him.

“Sorry,” Miya Atsumu said, offering an easy smile that looked sincere enough to make Kiyoomi feel childish for holding pointless grudges.

“It’s okay,” he shrugged, grabbing the ball with one hand and handing it to Miya Atsumu, who was now crouching beside him.

“At least it didn’t hit ya in the face,” the blonde joked, laughing softly in a way that made Kiyoomi think he’s more sorry that _didn’t_ happen.

He raised an eyebrow. “I guess so.”

Miya Atsumu chuckled again as he took the ball in his hands, and his fingertips grazed against Kiyoomi’s own when he did so. It was almost imperceptible, and Kiyoomi’s brain was still in its happy postgame haze, so his body didn’t react as strongly as it normally does when people touch him without his permission. In fact, it didn’t react at all.

“You’re Sakusa Kiyoomi, right? From Itachiyama?” Miya Atsumu asked conversationally, placing the ball over his thighs and keeping his arms wrapped around it almost protectively. Kiyoomi felt a bit at a loss knowing that the Inarizaki setter knew about him (which was a little unfair because he himself knew about Atsumu), but he nodded in response, to which Atsumu did a little impressed sound. His eyes widened a little along with his smile, too. “For real? Nice! We watched yer match just now, and it was so much fun. Although, it’s a shame the other team was nowhere near yer team’s level. Ya _crushed_ them, honestly.”

“It wasn’t that simple,” Kiyoomi found himself saying, even if it was somewhat true. He has never been one to underestimate his rivals. “But thanks.”

“No problem. Just make sure ya keep on winnin’, so we can be the ones to crush ya on the finals,” Atsumu smirked at him, confident and annoying and, curse Kiyoomi’s head for admitting it, but handsome, too. He mentally blamed it on the post-victory endorphins as his own lips curved into a matching shape.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, if I were you.”

“‘Tsumu, hurry up!” someone called from behind the Hyogo setter, and when Kiyoomi glanced there he saw it was his twin brother, who was standing there with a few of their teammates looking bored.

“Shut up, ‘Samu!” Atsumu yelled back at him over his shoulder, but he did make a move to leave, getting up and taking a step backwards and away from Kiyoomi. “Alright, I gotta go. But it was nice meetin’ ya, Kiyoomi-kun! I’m Miya Atsumu, by the way.”

“I know who you are,” Kiyoomi told him nonchalantly. “And it doesn't matter. We’ll be the ones to crush you”

Atsumu gave him one last challenging smirk before he turned around to run back to his teammates.

  
  


Kiyoomi lost count of the times he met Miya Atsumu after that.

After beating Inarizaki in the semi-finals, they met again for the Spring Interhigh, where Itachiyama beat them and came out on first place once again.

“Next time, Kiyoomi,” the Inarizaki setter swore across the net after the match that got his team in the third place for the second time in a row. “Next time, I’ll beat ya.”

“You’ll never beat me, Miya,” Kiyoomi said back to him, covered in sweat and drowning in adrenaline. Taking Atsumu’s hand and squeezing it and getting his own hand squeezed in return was the most natural thing to do.

“You just wait.”

Due to Itachiyama’s success, Kiyoomi got catapulted to the spotlight of high school volleyball, and suddenly it was him and Motoya his favorite magazines wrote praises about, right next to the likes of Ushiwaka and Kiryu and Bokuto. 

He caught the attention of the national team coaches and recruiters, so it was not really surprising when he got invited to the All-Japan Youth Training Camp, just as it wasn’t really surprising to find Atsumu was there too.

What was surprising was that, for as loud and outgoing as Atsumu seemed, he spent most of the time out of the court completely alone. Kiyoomi had always seen him with his brother or with his teammates, and he was so popular among volleyball enthusiasts and drew in such big crowds of fangirls that Kiyoomi assumed he was the kind that had friends all over the place.

“What are you doing?” Motoya asked through a mouthful of rice during lunch at the camp.

Quickly, Kiyoomi averted his gaze back to his own plate and shoved a spoonful of soup into his mouth.

“What?” He asked back, like Motoya didn’t just caught him looking at Atsumu, who was sitting all by himself on one of the large tables at the cafeteria.

“What are you doing?” Motoya repeated, sounding amused. “You keep looking in Miya’s direction.”

“What are you talking about?”

Motoya snorted.

“You want to go sit with him?”

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s no fun when you get all defensive, Kiyoomi-kun. If you want to go sit with him you can. He does look kinda lonely…”

Motoya looked in Atsumu’s direction and Kiyoomi followed now that he felt less embarrassed about getting caught looking. He didn’t even know why he was looking in the first place. Curiosity, maybe? Interest? Because it wasn’t compassion. He could never feel compassion or pity over someone like Miya Atsumu. Much less over something as trivial as having lunch alone.

“You’re friends, right?” Motoya asked, and Kiyoomi shook his head.

“No. Just rivals, I think.”

His cousin snorted again, amused.

“Right,” he nodded his head. “You’re so weird sometimes. I think I’ll go sit with that Kageyama guy in case your weirdness is contagious, if you don’t mind.”

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes at Motoya and his obvious tactic to get him to go sit with Atsumu, but in the end he did just that. He took only one more spoonful of soup before he got up with his tray and made his way to the table Atsumu was sitting at.

When he got there, he put his tray down one seat away from Atsumu a little too noisily, causing Atsumu to jump in surprise at the sudden sound.

“Kiyoomi-kun?” He asked, even more startled at the sight of him than at the sound of the tray.

“Can I sit here?” Kiyoomi replied simply, bluntly, and he half-expected Atsumu to tell him no for some reason, but he didn’t. He just looked a little confused as he nodded his head.

“Uh. Yeah? I mean, sure, ‘course ya can.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” Atsumu said, still looking a little confused, like he thought Kiyoomi had evil intentions or something.

He relaxed pretty soon and became quite talkative, which Kiyoomi found he didn’t mind much because he was extremely interested in what he was saying. Later, he was considerably less confused when Kiyoomi sat with him for dinner too, this time on the seat right next to him so they could watch the videos Atsumu talked about during lunch.

“Here,” Atsumu said, holding up an earphone in front of Kiyoomi, the other one popped in one of his ears already. “Put it on.”

Kiyoomi eyed the earphone with mistrust.

“What?” the setter demanded, and it prompted Kiyoomi to reach out for the earphone.

“Nothing,” he said, perhaps too quickly. “Just. Uh. Do you mind if I clean them a little first?”

“A little earwax never killed anyone, Kiyoomi-kun,” Atsumu said in a sing-song voice, smirking that lazy cocky smirk he had on most of the time. Kiyoomi wanted to retort, but then he realized - their fingers were touching. Atsumu hadn’t let go of the earphones, so Kiyoomi’s thumb and index fingers were touching Atsumu’s own, as were the sides of their hands and their wrists. “Ya hurt my feelings. But sure, go ahead. Just put them on quick - ya _need_ to see this, I tell ya.”

Kiyoomi’s nerves died down when Atsumu let go and their skin was no longer touching, but for some reason the feeling still lingered afterwards, while he cleaned the earphone with a paper napkin and while they watched the video, their shoulders a hair’s width away from each other’s. And that was something, too. Maybe not much to begin with to anyone else, maybe, but Kiyoomi is careful to a fault when it comes to letting people touch him outside the court, so it wasn’t just nothing.

Huh.

Maybe they were becoming friends, after all.

  
  


When Kiyoomi met Atsumu at the Spring Interhigh of their third and last year of high school, Atsumu was the captain of Inarizaki.

They were also friends on Facebook and had each other’s numbers saved on their cell phones, even if neither of them cared much for texting.

They met at the gymnasium, but they were both so busy that they only nodded their heads at each other from afar and it wasn’t until that night that they got to meet each other again. It turned out their schools booked the same hotel for their teams, a simple but comfortable one just a short walk away from the Spring Interhigh gyms, so when Kiyoomi went down to get a bottle of juice from the vending machine at the lobby and he found Atsumu in his pajamas sitting on one of the couches, he was only mildly surprised.

“Miya,” he said as a greeting, and Atsumu looked up from his phone at once. Before him on the table were a notebook with messy scribbles all over it and a vanilla flavored milk drink.

“Omi-kun, hey,” he replied, smiling in a way that at some point last year started making Kiyoomi’s chest feel strangely tight whenever he saw it. “How’re ya doin’?”

“Fine. Good game today.”

“Aw, thanks,” he smirked, then, and Kiyoomi knew at once trouble was coming. “Didn’t know ya were watching. I hope ya were on my good side.”

“What do you mean? You don’t have a good side,” Kiyoomi replied (smoothly, in his opinion) before turning to the vending machine. 

He wasn’t looking, but judging by Atsumu’s dramatic gasp he was sure he was doing something equally dramatic with his body, like bringing his hands to his chest in dismay or something.

“So cruel, Omi-omi.”

“Shouldn’t you be used to it already?”

“No,” Atsumu said. It was followed by the sound of rustling, and then by slippers on linoleum.

“Okay.”

Kiyoomi hummed to himself as he pushed coins into the machine, trying to ignore how his traitorous idiot heart sped up at the sound of Atsumu’s footsteps approaching him and how it got even worse when the setter leaned against the side of the machine, looking at him.

He looked and smelled clean, like he took a shower not too long ago. His hair was all over the place for that reason, still wet and looking amber instead of yellow in some areas, and he was wearing a maroon hoodie over his grey pajama shirt. Kiyoomi couldn’t help but steal glances in his direction as he made sure he got the money for his juice bottle right, and every time he looked, Atsumu’s half-lidded eyes were glued to him, his arm bent and leaning against the vending machine at his head level in some kind of weird pose.

“Uh. Do you need something?” Kiyoomi asked, hoping it sounded cool and nonchalant.

“Yeah,” Atsumu replied. “I need ya t’see my good side. I look sexy, don’t I?”

Kiyoomi wanted to laugh.

“What the hell are you talking about,” he said instead, looking at Atsumu again and finding him making another weird pose against the vending machine.

“C’mon, Omi, no one will find out. Just admit I’m hot, I won’t think any less of you.”

“You’re so ridiculous,” Kiyoomi finally laughed and shook his head, and it was good that he gave in and did that because then Atsumu broke whatever weird character he was impersonating and he started laughing too.

“Maybe a lil’ bit.”

Kiyoomi looked at him, at his shut eyes as he laughed happily and his messy blonde hair and his soft pajamas, and the wild thought and realization that this was the prettiest person he has ever seen assaulted Kiyoomi’s head. It made his chest go tight around his heart and lungs again, and his hand even shook a little. He accidentally knocked the last coin he needed against the side of the coin slot, which caused him to drop it to the floor where it rolled right under the vending machine and fell there with a muted thud.

“Oh, fuck, _no_ ,” Kiyoomi cursed, reality sobering his ridiculous thoughts at once. The thought of getting his hand down there, where it was probably dusty and grimmy and nobody had cleaned since the 1990s wasn’t appealing at all, but it was definitely better and safer down there than in his own head right now, so he immediately kneeled down to try and get it out.

“Wait, wait, don’t - let me,” Atsumu said, getting down on the floor as well. “I’ll get it for ya.”

“That’s not necessary, Miya, don’t worry,” he refused, trying to assure Atsumu, but the other insisted, shoving his hand into the narrow space under the vending machine like it was nothing.

“It’s fine, I don’t care about these things. I thought you didn’t like dirty things?”

“I’m not gonna die, Miya. I tell you I got it,” he said, shoving his own hand under the machine to try to feel around for his coin himself, but fuck, it was as dirty as he imagined.

“And I tell _you_ I don’t care,” Atsumu insisted again. “It’s gross down here so get yer hand out, Omi-kun,” he said, blindly finding Kiyoomi’s hand and giving it a series of little slaps to get him to take it out, but Kiyoomi didn’t oblige and instead attacked Atsumu’s hand with his own, poking it sharply with his fingertips. “Ow, hey!”

“You hit me first.”

Only after hitting Atsumu did he do as the setter told him and retrieved his hand, somehow feeling offended and thankful at the same time.

The setter huffed and rolled his eyes at him, but after a few seconds of patting around, he finally found Kiyoomi’s coin.

“Here,” he said gently, getting it out and then placing his hand above Kiyoomi’s. “Hand,” he commanded, and Kiyoomi opened his palm, expecting Atsumu to just drop the coin there, but instead and against everything Kiyoomi might’ve expected, what Atsumu did was he pressed his hand against Kiyoomi’s. The coin fell naturally onto Kiyoomi’s hand in the process, but Atsumu trapped it there by keeping his hand there too, his palm resting over Kiyoomi’s fingers and his fingertips reaching Kiyoomi’s wrist.

Suddenly, once again, Kiyoomi’s chest felt far too tight for his heart.

He felt like he should’ve been at least a _little_ bit disgusted by this - by Atsumu pressing his dusty dirty hand to his own dusty dirty hand - but he wasn’t. The strange heat that spread through his nervous system starting from his fingertips and reaching all the way to his stomach and the back of his neck was way more powerful.

He took an unsteady breath, looked down at their awkwardly joint hands, and then looked up at Atsumu’s face again.

He couldn’t find any cockiness there, nor anything remotely irritating. His expression was pretty open, with his furrowed brow and his honest eyes and his lips slightly parted like he was about to say something but didn’t know how. As for Kiyoomi, he was petrified, frozen in place, intrigued even if also a little scared.

“Hey, Omi-kun?” Atsumu finally spoke up. “Can I, uh… Can I tell ya something? It’s just - this is our last year, right? And I dunno if I’m gonna get a chance like this again, what with ya goin’ to university and me joinin’ the league — also, if I beat ya at the finals, ya might be too mad to wanna listen to me afterwards, so it’s like - now or never, y’know?”

Kiyoomi swallowed.

“I’m not childish like that,” he said at first, but it was a dumb thing to say - it was just him deflecting from whatever it was Atsumu wanted to say, something he had a hunch he knew what it could be about, so he stopped himself from adding anything else. “But yes, you can. What is it?”

“I…” Atsumu started, but he stopped like he wasn’t sure how to continue. He frowned. He looked like he was getting upset at himself, which was strangely endearing for some reason. Kiyoomi wanted to encourage him somehow, partly because the curiosity was going to eat him from the inside out, but all he could think of doing was rubbing his fingers against Atsumu’s wrist above his hand in what he hoped was a calming manner, which wasn’t calming at all to him.

All of a sudden, Atsumu looked up at Kiyoomi again with a new, confident glint in his eye, like he was done not knowing what to do or say.

“Okay. No. Y’know what? Words are too hard. New plan. Lemme try this.”

Kiyoomi almost said something in response, but he stopped himself when he noticed Atsumu leaning in, eyes open, gauging his reaction. Alarms went off in Kiyoomi’s head, but they weren’t bad alarms. They were just slightly panicked, I-have-no-clue-what-to-do alarms. Moving wasn’t an option because he didn’t want to move, not really, but he was suddenly hyper aware of the mask he was wearing over his mouth and nose, and of the fact that his breath had quickened to match the fast rate of his heart.

Atsumu stopped when he was close enough that their noses were almost touching, and his breath was warm against Kiyoomi’s mask. Even through the fabric he could smell sweet vanilla in the setter’s breath, and he couldn’t help but wonder if his lips would taste just as sweet if he pulled his mask down and let the other man kiss him.

Before Kiyoomi could make a decision, Atsumu started leaning closer again, this time with closed eyes, and Kiyoomi’s own eyes closed by themselves, his own neck stretched a little to try and meet Atsumu halfway, mask bedamned, but then loud footsteps and a loud voice came flooding in from the hallway.

“Hey, Atsumu, Osamu told me to tell ya that — no way, _holy shit_ —!” the voice, one Kiyoomi didn’t recognize, exclaimed, and just like that, after what felt like the longest build-up in the world, the moment broke and fell to pieces on the linoleum around them, leaving him feeling bare and embarrassed.

“Fuck,” Atsumu cursed, pulling away at once.

“Forget what Samu said,” Atsumu’s teammate said as he went his way back where he came from quickly. “He needs to know about _this_ . Wait, no - _Kita-san_ needs to know!”

Atsumu cursed again as he got back on his feet. “Fuck, Suna, I’ll kill ya,” he threatened, but then to Kiyoomi he said. “I’m - I’m sorry, fuck, I need to murder someone,” he said, and Kiyoomi didn’t even get a chance to nod before Atsumu was sprinting down the hall.

It was only when Atsumu was gone that Kiyoomi realized he took the coin with him.

  
  


They never got to play an official match against each other in their third year.

Then, while Kiyoomi was in college, they hardly ever saw each other.

Or, rather, they saw each other the same amount they did before, but things had already changed. Their schedules, their priorities, their responsibilities, the time they could dedicate to think about things that weren’t volleyball and, in Kiyoomi’s case, also his grades.

Atsumu was playing for the Black Jackals, living and training in Osaka, while Kiyoomi lived and studied in Tokyo, where he’d gotten a full sports scholarship. They saw each other at some games and events, and they could’ve played against each other at the Kurowashiki tournament if only the Jackals had won the previous game against the Adlers, but it was different between them.

They were both acting like that night of their third Spring Interhigh never happened, not because it was a bad memory or they hadn’t meant what (almost) happened, but because it was way more comfortable not to acknowledge it - at least for the time being.

Kiyoomi’s feelings for Atsumu, unexpected in every sense of the word as they were, dimmed down, but they never really went away. But what good would it do to him to cling to that unresolved episode? It was clear to him back then what it was that Atsumu wanted to tell him and what it was he wanted to do, and it was just as clear that Kiyoomi himself was more than on board with that. What was not clear was what would happen if he said anything about it while they were on such different wavelengths, busy with all the things they still had to sort out in their lives - like college; like a professional sports career.

Whenever the Jackals had a game that Kiyoomi was able to attend, the tight feeling in his chest would be back like it never left only minutes into the game, sometimes as soon as Atsumu would jog into the court in his black uniform.

Atsumu would always spot him in the audience, and he would always smile at him, or smirk at him, or wave at him, and as little as the gesture was, it always made Kiyoomi roll his eyes and feel stupidly warm inside.

What does it say about him that in all the years he spent in college nobody ever caught his eye again? Kiyoomi has no idea.

He also has no idea if somebody caught Atsumu’s eye while he was off playing in the V.League, but he doesn’t care if it happened, because when they finally meet again, this time for more than just a quick hello, Atsumu seems as wide eyed and eager as he did in the linoleum floor of that little hotel.

He’s bigger now, taller (even if still shorter than Kiyoomi), and the yellow of his hair is a way more passable shade now, clearly achieved at a professional hair salon instead of his family home’s bathroom.

Kiyoomi can’t help but smirk to himself when he sees his jaw dropping when he steps into the Black Jackals gym in Osaka. It’s his second try-out after his callback, this one with the rest of the team present, and oh, how he’s been looking forward to this.

The coach divides the team into two in order to play a short practice match with the potential new members, Kiyoomi and a guy he remembers playing against during the semi-finals of his last Spring Interhigh, Hinata Shoyo. They teamed Hinata up with Atsumu while Kiyoomi is on the opposite team, and it’s almost poetic, Kiyoomi thinks. His first practice match in what may become his team for the next few years, and once again, like fate had it so many times before, he’s up against Miya Atsumu.

“Ready to lose, Omi-omi?” Atsumu asks him through the net and Kiyoomi can only snort.

“Would you be so kind to remind me of a single time I’ve lost to you before?”

Atsumu looks at him with a raised eyebrow and a hand on his waist, and shit - he’s good looking. He always has been, and looking back, Kiyoomi could admit that he’s always thought Miya Atsumu was attractive, but right now, under the MSBY gym lights, it’s even more blatant that Atsumu is objectively the hottest person Kiyoomi has ever laid his eyes on — and that Kiyoomi’s been sitting on the edge of his seat for a long time, waiting for the moment to get close to him again.

“Well,” Atsumu starts, smirking. “Ya did lose a coin to me a few years back. I never got to give it back to ya, did I?”

His words make something spark in Kiyoomi’s chest and the pit of his stomach.

“No, never.”

“I’ll give it back if ya win,” he offers, spinning the ball he had in his hands. His hands which, Kiyoomi can’t help but notice, are still a little smaller than his own. “Whaddya say?”

All of a sudden he gets hit by a rush of courage that makes him reach out for the ball in Atsumu’s hands and take it, purposefully causing their hands to touch as he does so. The touch is brief and barely there, but still - it’s there, and it feels like it makes the stand-by light of their relationship, whatever their relationship was or is or could be, finally stop blinking and stay _on_.

“I say I’ll win.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! this was going to be just a little exercise but it got a little out of control and idk what happened (i have yet to proofread even can you believe), but i think i like it and i hope you liked it, leave a comment if u liked it maybe ? just kidding haha ,, unless,,
> 
> i'm on twitter @bichenoya ♡


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